


Revelation

by fabricdragon



Series: The Book of John [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, BAMF John Watson, Dark Mycroft, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, F/M, False Identity, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John Watson is a Saint, John Watson is simply not taking this anymore, John is fed up, John-centric, M/M, Past Abuse, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:01:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9456425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: John talks to Sherlock and Mycroft, and then goes home to Mary and talks to her.ouchfollows after Guardian Angel





	1. Chapter 1

It was odd how much things hadn’t changed.  He’d avoided the flat for the past few months after the last incident, where he got maudlin and then got blasted drunk at the local pub. He still had his key, so he just walked up.

He heard voices– not raised, but angry– and yes: Sherlock and Mycroft were sitting there when he walked in.

“Hello, I suppose it’s better that I see both of you,” John said, walking past them to the kitchen.

“John? I- I thought you needed time to–“

“Were you going to tell me about being captured and tortured? Or was that going to be a secret for my own good, too?” John said, not looking at them, making tea.

Mycroft immediately asked, “Who told you that? That’s highly classified–“

“Whatever, Mycroft,” John said tiredly. “Tea?”

“John, you … you don’t seem quite–“

John turned around and looked at Sherlock. “I just found out that the man I had fallen in love with, was willing to let me die rather than bother to tell me he was alive; do forgive me  if I’m a bit put out.”

Sherlock looked stunned. Mycroft immediately started up with the “It was for your own safety“ speech.   John simply ignored him and finished making tea.

“Here, I remember how you take it,” he said, putting down a cup for Mycroft and another for Sherlock, then going over with his own  to the chair he usually sat in. “Oh, do go on. The longer I hear about how I have to be kept in the dark for years so I can mourn and move on and get married and whatever else I was supposed to do, only to have my life turned upside down when you suddenly decided to walk back in and pick up my life again? The more I realize you’re a complete psychopath.”

“High functioning–“

“Narcissistic asshole, how about that?” John sipped his tea.

Both Holmes brothers were looking at him as if he had grown another head.

“I could have died. Repeatedly.  I was already under treatment for depression and other matters before you left, but I honestly and sincerely, believed that somewhere in that black heart you had Sherlock, that you cared.”

“I do care: I did all of this for YOU, John!”

“You don’t even know what I want, Sherlock.  Your ‘caring’ has nothing to do with me. If it ACTUALLY had anything to do with me, and not your grand dramatic gestures, you would have contacted me.  “Assuming you were too stupid to do THAT, you could have had your brother keep an eye on me,” he shrugged, “which you told me he hadn’t.”

“We had you under guard, in case any of Moriarty’s men tried again, but they had no reason to with my brother dead, that was the point!” Mycroft snapped.

“So you knew– who else? I’m sure a number of people had to help with the fake. How many of THEM could you trust with the knowledge that the single most important person in my life was actually alive?”

Sherlock was looking pained, at least. Mycroft mostly looked annoyed. “We would have told you if–“

“If what? If I’d actually died? Yes, I suppose you could have buried me next to the empty grave Sherlock is supposed to be in.”

“You- you can’t be serious, you didn’t try–“ Sherlock whispered.

“Yes, I did. At least three times, seriously, and I can’t count how many times I almost got run down because I was too distracted to see a car coming.  Luckily, someone was looking out for me, even if it wasn’t you.” He shook his head. “For my own good.” He snorted.

“It was for your own good, Doctor Watson: Moriarty left a number of men–“

“I’m certain. “ John just looked at him. “And I saw you on a few occasions, after the funeral, and I’m certain any of your agents could have gotten me someplace unobserved so someone could tell me. The fact is, neither of you wanted to tell me.”

“I did, John, but any contact was risky.” Sherlock looked distraught, really, and John felt something trying to comfort him, but he strangled it back.

“Sherlock? Were you in contact with your brother for all this time?”

“Yes. Not constantly, but–“

“Then you could have asked your  sociopathic elder sibling to  possibly concern himself enough to tell me you were alive, and have him get word to me, but you didn’t.” John nodded. “All because you and Moriarty really are just alike.”

“We were NOTHING alike!”

“Oh yes, it was all about the grand gesture, the drama of it: you, all alone, making the great sacrifice to protect poor, stupid John.” He  sighed, “And it never once occurred to you to wonder if I wanted it, or if I would have preferred anything else, because your  dramatic gestures matter more than my feelings.”

“I told you, Sherlock, sentiment–“

John cut him off. “And it’s your fault, of course, Mycroft. YOU knew.  You had to know.  You just chose not to TELL Sherlock that I was suicidal, or that I’d met someone, or anything else.”  His eyes sharpened as some things suddenly became clear. “Because you never liked me being here. You never wanted him to have someone else who you couldn’t control.  As soon as you couldn’t bribe me, you started trying to get rid of me, and you used that to –“

“That’s enough!” Mycroft stood up. “I understand you’re upset, so I will forgive–“

“Fuck you, Mycroft,” John said calmly. “I don’t want, or need, your forgiveness.  Oh, and Sherlock?” John stood up. “If you can’t tell from your brother’s reactions and your own deductions that I’m right, you aren’t trying.  If I end up abducted by a black car, or dead of ‘natural causes’, you’ll know who to blame.” He nodded at Mycroft and put down his tea cup. “I’m not suicidal anymore, so you’ve lost that chance.”

He turned to go and got grabbed by Sherlock, “John! I- I missed you, I was trying_”

“I believe that,” John said, softening slightly, “but until you decide to change your behavior, it doesn’t matter one bit. A lot of the battered women I treat go back to their abusers, too.”

“I never abused you!”

“Just because it didn’t leave visible bruises, Sherlock, doesn’t mean it wasn’t abusive. Have fun finding out why you brother lied to you for  years. Let me know if you actually decide to change.”

He shook Sherlock’s hand off his arm and walked out. “Oh, yeah.” He put the key down on the table by the door. “Goodbye, Sherlock. Eat a dick, Mycroft.”

~

“That’s entirely uncalled for!” Mycroft shouted at him as the door closed.  Mycroft turned back to Sherlock, “He’ll get over it.”

Sherlock was looking at him very oddly. “No. No, I don’t think he will. I’m not sure I will. Why didn’t you tell him, or notice, or tell me how badly things were going?”

“He’s exaggerating. Of course he was upset, we both knew he would be, but the important thing is that he’s alive!”

“You could have told him.  At least after a while,” Sherlock said slowly.

“Of course I COULD have, but he would have talked about it–“

“Molly didn’t, and John’s been through so much more with me than Molly.” Sherlock sat down. “He’s right: I should have trusted him; if I didn’t ask him, I should have trusted him.”

“I’ll speak to you later,” Mycroft sighed. “You’re obviously in need of rest.”

“If anything does happen to him, Mycroft, I’m blaming you.”

“That’s unreasonable!”

Sherlock just looked at him, “You know your way out.”

*

John programmed the number from the card into his phone, tagged it “G. Angel”, and put it on speed dial.  He snorted faintly at the idea and went home to Mary.  She hadn’t come into his life by accident, but she was some comfort.

He supposed he would have to ask her what she wanted to do now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John talks to Mary

He hadn’t said anything much to Mary when he got home, just smiled sadly at her and said, “Later”.

The next day they were both busy, and he took his comfort in sitting quietly over supper, and tea. He tried not to think about Sherlock and the fact that the man could be a brilliant chemist and still not make tea correctly.

“Is your name even Mary?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” She blinked at him. “John?”

“Is it even Mary?  He said you needed someplace to hide, but he never told me why.” He looked over in time to see the tea cup fall from her hand and her face go pale. “Oh… Oh right, sorry, I was just thinking. Sorry, I forgot.”  He smiled tiredly, “Yes, I found out. He’s the one telling you where I am, not Mycroft. I’d thought you worked for Mycroft, you know, after you found me that last time.”

She sat back slowly in her chair. “No, I don’t work for Mycroft.  A long time ago I used to work for someone like him, but I ran away.”

He nodded. “Well, he’s always been good at false identities, I suppose: Richard Brook was unshakeable.”

“You’re… alright?”

“I think so?  In any event, I’d rather know a hard truth than a lie. I lived with a lie for years; I think I’ve developed an allergy to them.”

She nodded. “It’s Mary now; it wasn’t before, but it is now.”

“Is any of it real? Do you even like me? I won’t give you away, I just… I need to know.”

She stood up suddenly and busied herself making tea, or at least noise involving pots and cups. “Not at first.  You were… no, not at first.  You kind of grew on me, though.”

“Funny, that’s what he said.”

“I think… I think I like the John who I got to know more recently.  I’m only just getting settled into being who I am now, you know?  I think Mary likes the John you’ve been this past year, but I’m still kind of new at being Mary.”

John nodded. “How about we take a step or two back, then, and start over as friends?”

She gave him a quirked smile. “Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Mary Morsten.”

“Hey, nice to meet you too, I’m John Watson.”

“I have a deep, dark secret: I have a tattoo.”

“Nah, that’s nothing, I have a deeper, darker one: my middle name is Hamish.”

They kept looking at each other solemnly until they both cracked up.

“Do you actually like this show?” John asked, waving at the telly.

“It’s mindless, and they get all the facts wrong, and yeah, kind of.”

“Me too,” he nodded.

 She came back and sat down. “You still hung up on him, even now that you know?”

“Yeah, but I won’t be the kind of guy who goes back to someone like that– not unless he really gets serious about changing. I hadn’t realized how much I let him hurt me.  He never did have a really good grip on other people.”

“So, not intentionally abusive? Just…?”

“Self-absorbed? I called him a narcissistic asshole, but I really think he’s mostly clueless.  His brother is worse; I finally figured it out.”

“Figured out what?”

“Mycroft has been chasing people away from Sherlock since forever; failing that, he tries to control them.  He tried to bribe me to report on him, after all.”

“That’s awful!”

“It may be that is the only way he knows how to show affection, but it’s abusive as hell.  He was going to happily move me out of Sherlock’s life after all, probably talked him into the idea that not contacting me was a great idea. Let me kill myself, let me move on– I don’t think it mattered.  He’s isolating Sherlock, even if he may convince himself it’s for his own good…” John snorted. “Tried to give me a lecture on how grieving him for years was for my own good.”

“Jesus.”  Mary’s eyes were wide. “He sounds like my old handlers. He’s doing that to his brother?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s all he knows how to do.” John shrugged. “I wonder what kind of nightmare their parents were.”

“Wow.”

“Look, Mary… This whole thing, and… and some other stuff that I’m not ready to talk about… has me a bit rattled. I’d like to be friends? Can we maybe see where it goes once both of us have a better grip on who we are?”

She tilted her head and looked at him, and her expression was a bit sharper than he’d ever seen before. “Yeah, you know? I think I might like that.”

John moved back into the other bedroom, but neither of them was upset. John just wished he knew what to make of the fact that he’d admitted to being in love with Sherlock….

And getting kissed by Moriarty– Moriarty of all people!– had been… unexpectedly brilliant.

He wondered how much of that was the fact that everyone seemed to think he was gay, and how much of that was the whole danger thing. Because being kissed by Moriarty… that was definitely dangerous. John knew he wasn’t gay– he liked sex with women, he liked looking at women– but… he knew that the attraction to men wasn’t new.

Certain men, anyway, if he was being honest.

John wondered how you found a therapist to talk with about the fact that your girlfriend was probably a runaway spy, your hopeless lost love was alive, and the best kiss of your life was with the man who almost blew you to bits by a pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This "one shot" has officially gone into my continuing series, and yes the story arcs start getting longer (ad yes, smut happens)   
>  it turned into a REALLY "this makes sense but in a bad way" story, so read the tags for each story arc, seriously.


End file.
